


What Could Have Been (But Wasn't)

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:05:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5502197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end, of it all, Malik and Altair drag themselves, covered in grime and blood, out of the temple falling in on itself. They collapse outside of it, weary to the bone but <i>alive</i>. When he catches his breath, Malik twists around, ready to shout at Altair for being an <i>idiot</i> and how if he ever so much as thought about pulling a stunt like that again--</p><p>Altair laughs at him, because they're both alive (because he didn’t expect to be) and as their story draws to a close, he draws Malik <i>closer</i> and kisses him.</p><p>But this is not that story.</p><p> </p><p>This is the story of a man who was willing to die to save the world and the man who was willing to die for <i>him</i>. This is how their story could have ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Could Have Been (But Wasn't)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for phoenixislost @ tumblr who asked for a death fic.

Malik had always known he would die.

It wasn't the same way others might know it, as this distant eventuality that was unimportant in the larger scheme of things and likely to come as a surprise when it occurred.

Death, for Malik, had been an event he had been moving towards for as long as he'd known what the tattoos covering his body meant (that he when he was twenty five, he would go up into the mountains to renew the Seal. One life in exchange for another five decades of peace for everyone).

It was inevitable and every time he saw his own reflection in the mirror he knew where and when (and how) he would die.

He had felt regret. The times when the weight of his sacrifice had hit him suddenly, like when he had been twelve and he realized, holding his newborn baby brother that he'd never see Kadar as an adult. (And maybe three days ago, when Altair had kissed him and held him as if he were something precious, something worth more than the blood he will spill to repair the cage holding the witch at bay).

It was because Malik had accepted everything that he felt regret.

He had lived with the knowledge so long that it did not scare him. It was simply a part of his life.

What use was there in being afraid, after all?

He hadn't been scared when he woke up to the sight of the Temple close by (he had seen it last night, its silhouette cut into a clear sky decorated with stars, dark and with few visible details). His proximity tot he place where he would die did not frighten him.

But when he peered into the fountain to wash his face and saw his face he froze.

The tattoos were gone and his face seemed like that of a stranger without them. His fingers shook when he ran them over his face. Then he stood up abruptly, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Altair." He whispered like a curse (like a denial) as he ran towards the Temple, through its broken arches and came to a skidding stop in the room where the heart of the Seal was. "Altair!"

His heart dropped when Altair turned around, the tattoo glowing faintly on his skin. But he was _smiling_ as he walked towards Malik, his hands brushing over Malik's cheek, "So this is what you look like without all this."

~ + ~

At the end, of it all, Malik and Altair drag themselves, covered in grime and blood, out of the temple falling in on itself. They collapse outside of it, weary to the bone but _alive_. When he catches his breath, Malik twists, ready to shout at Altair for being an _idiot_ and how if he ever so much as thought about pulling a stunt like that again--

Altair laughs at him, because they’re both alive (because he didn’t expect to be) and as their story draws to a close, he draws Malik _closer_ and kisses him.

But this is not that story.

~ + ~

Malik slapped Altair's hand away, and grabbed his shirt to haul him close.

"What did you _do_?" His voice was a snarl, angry because it was easier than the cold, cold fear gripping him.

"The tattoo functions like a curse. I couldn't break it but I could transfer it." Altair's hands came up to frame Malik's face, brushing close to the corner of his eyes where tears were beginning to gather, "It's all right, Malik."

Malik's laugh was brittle and bitter, "how? How could this possibly be all right? You're going to die! This was my burden to carry! Why would you do this?" The last question was a scream, bordering on being _hysterical_. In contrast, Altair's sigh was quiet right before he touched their foreheads together.

"Because I could not stand to watch you die."

~ + ~

The old man explains it like this:

"Fifty years ago, it had been my daughter. The day the world celebrated I had mourned. She had gone without fear, and logically it makes sense that one dead every fifty years is better than the witch coming back. But why should any have to die? Five hundred years ago, we thought ten lives a year was a small price to pay for peace. Then we made the seal. Now it is only one life every fifty. But why can't it be less? Malik, come over here."

Only then does Malik move from where he's been staring out the window. No doubt he's already heard the explanation Altair was getting but, at the same time, Altair wonders how he could look so disinterested in the details of his own fate. Back then, he thought that Malik had resembled a doll, doing what was asked of him without complaint or argument.

The old man rolls up Malik's sleeve, "these are meant to take the Sacrifices life force, mixed with their blood to renew the seal. Or, they were. I've made changes to the spell. The witch always tries to strike a deal with the Sacrifice. As long as the Seal is in place she can't get out, but with it weakened she could leave if there is a body willing to allow her to possess it. But this time, she will not be free."

His hand, old and weathered, closes over Malik's wrist, "When she comes out she will find herself in a new prison. One of flesh and blood. She will be vulnerable then, all you need is to kill her."

The knife handed to Altair is carved with runes, humming with a faint power.

"One life," the man says. There is something bright (bordering on manic) in the man's eyes as he continues, "for all those that have been lost, and in exchange for all those that would have been lost in the future."

~ + ~

The tattoos were glowing faintly, which meant that they had worked. The witch was trapped (and it was too late to change anything), but Malik felt no accomplishment. There was no satisfaction in knowing that no one else would die for this because it wasn't supposed to be like this.

 _Altair_ was never supposed to die.

There was a hitch in Malik's breathing, followed by another. Then he dragged Altair in, pressing his face into Altair's shoulder. His grip on Altair was painfully tight and Malik called him all manner of names even as his shoulders shook.

Altair's hand settled on the back of his neck, the other across the back of his shoulders. He kissed Malik on the temple and just held him.

"Malik," he said, as he played with the hair at the nape of his neck as the insults peetered off into nothing but ragged breathing, "I cannot pick up the knife."

"No." Malik's voice was raw when he pushed him away, "Altair, you cannot expect me to--to kill you."

"Hypocrite." Altair said, not unkindly, "You would have asked the same of me."

"You were paid--"

"To destory the witch." He took Malik's hand, gently turned him towards the direction where the knife was lying on the stone floor, "and I will."

Malik swallowed, "But it must be by my hand." 

~ + ~

Four weeks into their journey, they stopat an inn and Altair grabs Malik by the hand before he could retreat to their room.

"It's too early to turn in, don't you think?"

Malik hesitates (because there's an invitation in the warm way Altair looked at him and it makes him embarrassed to be looked at in such a way). He doesn't say, 'yes' or nod or do anything to outright accept Altair's offer.

But he does't fight when Altair drags him over to the corner and orders for the both of them. The food is too spicy, but the wine was sweet on Malik's tongue and he might have drunk more than he should because he's staring at Altair's mouth for most of the evening.

Then he glares when Altair begins flirting with one of the women who had been performing earlier, playing some kind of stringed instrument Malik didn't recognize while singing.

"What?" Altair says, hiding his grin behind his drink as he smirks at the woman returning to the stage.

He is _drunk_ that is the only explanation for the way he stands up from the table and marches towards the small area they'd cleared to use as a stage. It is the only explanation for why he starts to sing to the music being played, for why he sings until his voice is exhausted. It couldn't have been because he wanted Altair's eyes on _him_ (though, admittedly, the way Altair stared at him slack jawed was hilarious).

It was Altair who finally drags him back to the table. "I didn't know you could sing." He says.

Malik huffs, "you never asked."

Altair chuckles as he let Malik flop back onto his chair. A woman comes to their table as Altair sits down across from Malik.

"You are very good." She says. She jingles when she stops in front of them, the sound coming from the various pouches she wears.

"Thank you." Malik says, but, drunk as he is, it sounds slurred and just a little bit confused. He frowns when Altair laughs at him.

But the woman is frowning at them both, with her head cocked to the side.

"Well." She says. Then, without another word, she opensone of her many pouches (there had to be fifty--no, sixty of them fixed all around her belt, each of them a different colour, all of them much brighter than you'd normally find anywhere). She pulls out a blue coloured stone dangling on a piece of leather cord. She reaches out to place it around Malik's head, but Altair grabs her wrist.

"Think of it as payment for his performance." She says, "I mean your friend no harm."

Altair eyes the stone suspiciously, "What does it do?"

She laughed, tugging her hand free of Altair's, slipping out of his grasp like sand between his fingers, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Before leaving she says, "but it may very well save your lives one day."

~ + ~

In another life, there would be a stone, blue like the sky at high noon, and Malik would remember it and the words of the mysterious woman as Altair bled out in his arms.

In this one, Malik had declined Altair's invitation ("it's not." He'd said hotly, snatched his hand back and went to bed. Without an interesting drunk stumbling up to the stage, the woman had turned towards the door instead of smiling in amusement and sitting back down to waiting to be entertained and was surprised when the man was actually quite good) and the stone stone was still sitting in the bright green pouch, many, many miles away from this place.

Here, when Malik stabbed Altair with shaking, unsteady hands there was no miracle to save him. There was nothing except Altair's shallow breathing as he lay with his head on Malik's lap as Malik caressed his hair, tears still falling from his eyes. The tattoos disappeared by degrees, slowly disintegrating into what looked like fine dust. They'd heard the witch's scream when Altair was stabbed and she was fading as the tattoo did, her screeches becoming quieter in Altair's head as she slowly died.

Altair didn't ask for a song because he didn't know Malik could sing and Malik didn't offer one in a halting voice that struggled with every note because he didn't know it would be something Altair would like.

(In a path they didn't walk, Altair would beg for a song every night until eventually Malik would say, "haven't you had enough?"

"Never." Altair would say with a grin.)

"I want you to see the world, Malik." The words were mumbled and the hand that reached to brush the tears away was weak and cold when Malik pressed it against his cheek. "I want you to see the world you were willing to die for."

"But I didn't." He said and Malik's grip tighted on his hand.

Altair had the gall to laugh at him, "I didn't die for the world, Malik."

~ + ~

In the world where they survive, a year later on this day, Altair wakes up to find Malik's fingers on his pulse, his face pale and his voice shaking as he says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--" He pulls his hand back but before it could make its escape Altair took it in his. He gently pulls Malik down until his head is lying on his chest. "I dreamed you were dead." His grip tightens. "I almost lost you."

"But you didn't." Altair says, stroking over Malik's brow. "We're both alive."

The wound on Altair's stomach will scar and, every year on this day, it would throb. They lay together then and know that it could have been over that day in the Temple. There isn't a day that goes by where Malik isn't _thankful_ for everything he had, especially for this scar, for the fact that Altair survived.

But this is not that ending.

~ + ~

Malik had long since run out of tears and he'd lost feeling in his legs, but he didn't get up. He was still running a hand over Altair's face, cold to the touch, but so very peaceful looking.

"I'm sorry." He said, when Malik finally found his voice. One of his hands was resting on Altair's shoulder while the other reached to the side where the knife had been discarded. 

(Because there were different ways this story could have ended, but there isn't a single ending where they left this place without each other.)


End file.
